Bottles and Sleepless Nights
by Stunning Sunset
Summary: After the war, Katniss finds herself plagued by nightmares. Desperate for sleep, she finds a haven in her mentor. If he can keep the memories at bay enough to sleep, maybe, in his presence, she could too. And so what if she keeps one of his discarded bottles as trophy? If she keeps coming back for solace, maybe they'll be proof of sleepless nights without nightmares.


This is just a little something that was sleeping on my computer. I do plan to eventually turn it into a full-fledged story, but for now, it shall remain a one-shot. If you're interested on seeing a continuation of this, do let me know! Be aware that this is the first time I'm writing for this fandom, so while I'll do my best to keep everyone in character, I don't have enough experience writing these characters to be 100% certain of it. Still, I'll try!

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It is the panic that wakes her up, the remnants of a scream dying on her lips. For a long moment, she pants, hunched over in her bed as she tries to get her breathing back to normal. Her bedroom feels like a stifling prison, dark and oppressive, and for a few agonizing minutes, she can't breathe, can't think of anything but blood and screams—

She finally manages to wrangle a few deep breaths in and knows with sudden clarity that she can't stay in her room, but the rest of the house feels just as confining and before she knows it she's outside, dazed and wondering what to do next. She wants to feel a human presence next to her, but even as she glances at Peeta's house she knows that's a bad idea.

So instead, she stares at Haymitch's house, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she fidgets, trying to muster enough courage to cross the treshold. It takes her a surprising amount of time, but she finally sneaks in, closing the front door behind her silently.

For a moment, she doesn't know what to do and wrings her hands worriedly, but then decides that her doubts are less important than the fear that, still now, claws at her.

As silently as she can, she creeps up the stairs, trying not to sneeze at the amount of dust she displaces as she moves. Haymitch's house is built much alike her own, and his snores help her orient herself anyway.

Within moments, she's peering at him from the open door to his bedroom, looking at the way the moon shines on his sprawled form. She hesitates, but as he continues to snore, she finally tiptoes in and sits next to the door, leaning against the wall as her heart finally slows down to something healthier.

She'll just stay a little longer, she thinks as a cloud obscurs the moon for a moment and she shivers as the light fades from the room. Just a little longer. As long as she leaves before he wakes up she'll be in the clear anyway.

She doesn't know how long she sits there in the dark, looking at her former mentor sleep off his alcohol, but it is long enough for her white-knuckled grip on her bent legs to first hurt and then go numb. By the time the sky starts to lighten and she relinquishes her grip on her legs, she feels a little more grounded, even if she hasn't slept a wink. She knows her day will drag on due to her fatigue, but she's used to it and maybe her next night will be less eventful.

Slowly, she gets to her feet, skittishly checking on Haymitch to see if her movements wake him up, but he doesn't move until she leaves and she releases a breath of relief as she finds herself on the ground floor, eyes sweeping the mass of bottles lying around. On impulse, she picks one up and leaves with her stolen trophy, hightailing it out of the house and back to hers, where she looks at the empty bottle for a long moment, wondering what to do with it.

Go back to the house and put it back among the others? Throw it away? Keep it?

She's not quite sure, but the first option makes her shudder and she can't bring herself to actually throw it in the trash, so with a sigh, she goes down to the cellar and puts it in a corner where it will undoubtedly gather dust as she ponders what to do with it. At least it won't be out in the open for people to wonder if she's following in her mentor's footsteps on that point.

It is the first of many bottles.


End file.
